


Five Times John Childermass Thought Privately that John Segundus was Quite Lovely, and One Time He Said So

by sherwoodfox



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Crushes, Denial of Feelings, Fainting, Fantasizing, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Guilt, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protectiveness, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24685270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherwoodfox/pseuds/sherwoodfox
Summary: Childermass is tasked with investigating the new magician in York, John Segundus- a usually routine assignment that leads, quite forcefully and unexpectedly, to years of indecent and unacted upon thoughts of bright eyes and slender hands and pale skin that glows pink under the stress of any excitement.(Or, well, the title is summary enough.)
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 46
Kudos: 72





	1. First: The Bookstore

Mr. Norrell sent Childermass on a mission to uncover the nature and workings of the new magician in York, a one Mr. John Segundus. The man had moved recently from London- which is to say, he had moved from a considerably unmagical place to a much more magical one (even if the York of these days was greatly diminished in comparison to its former self). This was concerning to Mr. Norrell, who preferred to keep all the other (theoretical) magicians of the world in their ‘proper places’ (that is, in places that kept them from doing any magic or making any waves in the sphere of magical scholarship whatsoever). So, then came the job for Childermass- to uncover the intentions of this new magician, and lay the groundworks to destroy him if need be.

Childermass had read the few publications attributed to John Segundus already, without the knowledge of Mr. Norrell (though this was common- Childermass read a great many things without the knowledge of Mr. Norrell). There hadn’t been anything particularly radical or revolutionary about them, being for the most part histories and mild essays on interpretations of history. But Childermass had found he rather enjoyed them- though the material was not especially striking he had thought the voice of the writing to be light and pleasantly clever, outlining and then establishing points efficiently, without falling into the scholastic tendency towards plodding paces and dragging details, or long-winded self-importance. Indeed, in these bright and gently-worded little pieces, this Segundus had already surpassed Gilbert Norrell in a field which he had always wanted to excel in.

At the moment of his assignment, Childermass knew nothing of the man other than this- he was a theoretical magician from London, and he was a good writer. Everything else would come easy.

One cold morning Childermass waited in an alley outside the house where John Segundus was staying. Discovering the address had been a matter of paying the paperboy, who was also the landlady’s son, and had taken him all of ten minutes. Today, he would trail Mr. Segundus, see where he went and who he spoke to, and tomorrow he would speak to those people, and perhaps later in the week he would travel to London to see what his old acquaintances thought of him. This was the job at hand, and Childermass had done it many times.

There were things to be learnt even here, looking at the house- Mr. Segundus was poor, he had only rented a few rooms on the third floor, and he likely didn’t have much in the way of popularity because his arrival here had made no fanfare. Hardly a powerful opponent. Childermass yawned, for it was still early, and breathed on his gloved fingers to warm them. In his mind, he was picturing a plump and kindly old man, perhaps with white hair and beady eyes, not unlike the average magician from the York Society (all of whom Childermass kept regular tabs on, per Norrell’s request). He would be married to a similarly plump old woman, and perhaps they had a daughter or two who was already married off, or a son with a small but respectable business somewhere in London- yes, that made sense, a business that Segundus had run while researching magic on the side, and was now leaving to that son (who was perhaps recently married) in order to pursue his intellectual interests in a modest retirement.

Childermass was amused by this portrait, and so set on it that he was quite surprised when the _real_ John Segundus appeared, not long after Childermass had finished constructing his fantasy. He left by the front door, said something to the landlady (who smiled very warmly at him) and paused on the side of the street after the door had closed behind her, as though catching his bearings. This, helpfully, allowed Childermass a moment to see him quite clearly.

Segundus was, in fact, a rather young man- perhaps younger than Childermass himself. He had a small and slender build (a contrast to what Childermass had been imagining) and very pale skin, the kind that seemed slightly translucent, exposing what lay beneath it easily. His hair was dark, curling in a whimsical way about his ears and forehead, and his eyes were large and thickly lined and seemed to take up a surprising amount of his otherwise rather delicately-featured face. Watching him stand there, staring almost absently down the street, Childermass was struck by the impression that he most greatly resembled some kind of deer, for he held himself with the same nervous tension and had the same sense of innocence in his wide, dark eyes.

Then he was off, and Childermass followed him.

He was a remarkably easy man to follow. He did not seem suspicious of his surroundings- nor indeed entirely aware of them, for more than once he bumped into bodies or packages on the street, apologizing to their owners quite profusely when he did so. Despite this, though, he walked with the purpose of a man who knows where he is going, which was very odd, for he clearly did not know York very well- rather, he seemed to know the _direction_ of his destination, but not the actual path that led there. Childermass watched his dusty-looking tricorn hat move through the crowds that were beginning to warm up to a Saturday bustle, and thought that the state of the gentleman’s clothes also served as confirmation that he was rather poor. Poor, and without an inclination towards decadence or high-fashion, for all his clothes were in drab colours and out of style cuts and looked very practical. Well, Childermass could respect that.

There were also clues that suggested he was unmarried- the skewed way his cravat was set about his neck, the raggedness of the ends of his sleeves. Yes, Childermass would be surprised if he learned there was a lady staying in those small apartments with him (though he would check to be sure).

Segundus’ first stop was at a small bookseller’s. Childermass supposed he should have guessed. He knew this shop very well himself, and made a note to return tomorrow to bother the bookseller about what Segundus asked for- but Childermass could well assume. To his own surprise, he felt a slight frown touch his face. Segundus would not find what he was looking for, and whose fault was that?

Segundus left the bookseller’s a quarter of an hour later, looking a little confused, but not dispirited. Childermass followed him to another bookstore after that, and waited, and then another after that, and then another after that, and then another after that. Each time Segundus stepped out he looked a little more perturbed, his disquiet manifesting itself as a blush that glowed under his pale skin, the pink becoming a little deeper with each frustrated attempt.

After leaving the last store still empty-handed Segundus stopped next to the door to gather himself once again. He appeared to be thinking something quite vexing, frowning down at his boots, the blush having spread far enough to touch the end of his nose and the tips of his ears.

Childermass then found himself thinking a wholly unwelcome thought, and it was the following: Segundus was rather _pretty,_ wasn’t he? 

Now, with his unassuming stature and general smallness he was far from an Adonis, and perhaps the slightly peculiar way in which his features settled on his face disqualified him from the high looks of a traditional ‘beauty’ one might see in statues or paintings (or, very rarely, in real life). But Childermass could not deny that there was something very...pleasantly attractive about him, with his pale skin and soft eyes, and this sense was only amplified by the flush at his cheeks and the furrowing of his dark brows. 

Segundus stood there on the step, wholly oblivious to the vaguely improper eye he was receiving, wringing his hands close to his chest- then he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, looked at it for a moment with an inquisitive turn of his head, and then put it away again with what appeared to be a frustrated sigh.

Damn. Pretty and _cute._

Childermass rolled his eyes at himself and looked away, letting out something of a frustrated sigh of his own. It didn’t do anyone any good to be thinking indecent things, himself least of all. He had work to do, and work that could only lead to misfortune for the pretty-and-cute Mr. Segundus. And it wasn’t like Childermass to have his head turned by any sweet thing on the street. No, he had better be putting such foolishness aside.

So he did. With a renewed sense of professional distance Childermass resumed his stalking of Mr. Segundus. Over the rest of the day he went to lunch in a small pub, and then proceeded to a few more shops- the last and grubbiest bookstores in York, which took a bit of walking to reach, and then when his search was made futile even there a few shops of curiosity or oddity. Perhaps he was looking for magical artifacts, where books were none.

In the end, though he visited a good many places, Segundus returned to his home for dinner without having purchased anything. Childermass watched him slip back inside, a slightly dejected slant to his shoulders, and ignored the part of himself that felt poorly at the sight. It shouldn’t- it _didn’t-_ matter to him what discouraged the spirits of some stranger would-be magician. Indeed, this aspect of his work had never bothered him in the slightest before- he had never felt sympathy for any of the men Norrell had ruined...nor any of the ones _he_ had ruined, or stolen from, or fought, or slept with. 

Perhaps it was because Segundus was so expressive, even without hearing him say a single word Childermass knew what he had been feeling over the course of the day...ah, but here lay thoughts Childermass had no business thinking, so assuredly he quieted them and went on his way, the day’s work complete.

He certainly didn’t reread Segundus’ publications when back at Hurtview, imagining those slender, anxious hands scribbling the words down upon the page, or those wide, dark eyes caught in candlelight, brown-black curls set askew. No, he didn’t do that, and if he did it meant nothing in particular.

The next day Childermass returned to York, tracing Segundus’ path as he had planned, inquiring as to his queries at the bookstores and curiosity shops. As expected, the man had been looking for books of magic. As expected, he hadn’t found a single one.

Within the week Childermass supposed he should prepare for a trip to London. He didn’t think there would be much to find in Segundus’ past, but if there was he would find it.


	2. Second: The Library

Mr. Norrell opened the doors of the library at Hurtview for his guests (the first guests he had received in a long, long time) who happened to be two members of the York Society of Magicians- one Mr. Segundus and one Mr. Honeyfoot, the former of which Childermass had spent the last few weeks thoroughly forgetting about. Having completed his researches into Segundus’ entirely unremarkable past to Norrell’s satisfaction (which is to say, he had determined that Segundus was not a dark sorcerer of untold power, coming to York deliberately to strip Norrell of all he held dear- and in the process discovered most vexingly that Segundus was indeed unmarried, and had never been known to hold a closeness with any marriageable ladies whatsoever) he had left the matter of that innocuous scholar alone. But as happens when dealing with living, breathing beings of their own agency, leaving the matter alone wasn’t enough to stop Childermass from seeing him again.

Childermass had read the letter Segundus had sent to Norrell- a letter written in as mild and sweet a tone as his publications- in fact, he had been the one to first receive it, and had also read the not-so-sweet reply his master had sent, inviting the two magicians to Hurtview. Childermass had decided to avoid any contact with the party because, well, he had a lot of work to do, and since when had the members of the York Society ever interested him? He had assumed, clearly erroneously, that the library was in fact the safest place to be at the time, thinking that Norrell (who never liked to share) would lead his guests on a long and meandering tour of the abbey and magically confound them into thinking that they had seen some sort of library, without ever actually setting foot in the thing. But as it turned out this wasn’t the case, and so Childermass found himself tending to his papers when the library doors opened, and in came the three magicians.

Unhelpfully, Childermass’ eyes landed first on Segundus, who was dressed as blandly and almost-shabbily as he always was- indeed, with this and his demure disposition he should have been the kind of man who disappeared into the crowds of a room, or even into the furniture, but at the moment the brilliance of his expression overcame every such disadvantage. He absolutely _glowed_ with wonder as he looked across the library, one hand at his chest as though breathless, the beginnings of a pink flush starting high across his cheeks. For a moment, he was so bright he was all that Childermass could see.

Then, Segundus turned away from the shelves and _looked at Childermass._ It was just for a moment, but it felt much longer, Childermass feeling strangely warm and entirely too aware of his own body under the gaze of those huge, pretty eyes. Segundus looked at him with such a perfect concentration, as though he too were some kind of magical relic, and only when Childermass lifted his head to meet that gaze directly did he look away, eyelashes fluttering and ears turning suddenly pink.

Childermass sighed, a sound that served the same purpose as steam fleeing the spout of a teapot to release tension, and tried to look back down at his papers. Norrell introduced him in the way a zookeeper might introduce an animal, without its needing to say anything, and wasn’t that true? Nothing needed to be said of Childermass, who after all was only a servant, as low and coarse and ill-bred as they come. There was no reason for him to say anything to Segundus who, though poor, was very clearly a gentleman- a gentleman who looked like he had never been touched by anything rougher than cheap fabric, a gentleman who _shouldn’t_ be touched by anything rougher...oh, most of the time Childermass thought disparagingly of naïveté, and took a certain _schadenfreude_ in the troubles and discomfort of spoiled and high-riding men, but in his mind Segundus made a clear and violent exception. No, it would be a very unjust thing indeed to take away the sparkle in those soft eyes, the innocence of that smooth white-and-pink skin.

Childermass should have come up with a reason to be elsewhere. He probably wouldn’t even be noticed if he took his leave, slipping out of the library doors like the shadow he knew he could become. But, well, he didn’t do that- perhaps it was a moment of weakness, but he didn’t think it did much harm.

Segundus, once given free reign, darted back and forth between the bookshelves with that incredible look on his face, calling out in delight to Mr. Honeyfoot at the discovery of new or long-thought-lost titles, or reading certain random passages from their pages aloud. He had a very sweet voice, perhaps exactly the voice Childermass would have imagined for him, had he ever done such a thing. A voice that sounded like its natural state was ‘tentative’, but at the moment was so overfull with excitement that it forgot to be concerned with itself.

Indeed, Segundus was full of such a childlike kind of wonder (though what child would be overjoyed by books?) that he appeared half his years. The flush hadn’t faded and, uncaring for decorum Segundus bit his lower lip while reading (oh, no) and ran his fingers through his hair, setting the dark curls out of order. He was by far the most pleasant thing to look at in the room, and probably the most pleasant thing Childermass had seen since...well, since he had stalked the man through York several weeks ago. 

It was a pity he would remember none of this when it was over- for Childermass knew Norrell would make it so. Childermass for a moment felt a small resentment for his master- a resentment for putting himself and, by association, Childermass against this small and lovely creature, for setting him up to suffer and fail.

Then the feeling passed, and Childermass firmly settled his sensibilities. He enjoyed watching the rest of Segundus’ and Honeyfoot’s visit- especially the delicate gasp Segundus made at Norrell’s proclamation of being a practical magician- but when they left he put the afternoon out of his mind. He could enjoy pleasant sights and sounds as much as any man, but to go pondering upon them and letting them catch in his mind would only lead to trouble. He had enough trouble with Mr. Norrell’s eccentricities already.

A week or so passed with no mention of the other magicians, and then one day Childermass sat down to attend to the letters at his desk and found that one of them was from the York Society of Magicians- a sight that gave Childermass both a tiny thrill of delight and a stab of annoyance. There was no getting away from it, was there?

Though, this might be a good thing. In Childermass’ mind, his master’s arrival into the world was long overdue. Perhaps it was time to apply some pressure, and make changes in this long-unchanged house.

And if it meant he was going to find himself in the company of the attractive Mr. Segundus a few more times, well, he was sure he would survive.


	3. Third: The Cathedral

The sun had barely risen by the time Childermass set to waiting outside the Cathedral for the York Society to come meet their doom. The air was cold, which he barely noticed, and the snow sparkled mysteriously in the soft dawn light.

He was privately glad that one signature had been missing from the contract brought back to Hurtview by the little lawyer. He knew it was perhaps only a delaying of the inevitable- Norrell was unlikely to leave Segundus entirely alone, diminutive and inoffensive though he may be. And it would probably hurt him enough to be left without any colleagues or materials, which (dull though _they_ may be) scholars of all disciplines needed. But, once more, Childermass put aside these unusually sympathetic musings. He was here to watch the destruction of the York Society, something which should give him a bit of amusement, if the magical spectacle did not.

While he waited, the square outside the Cathedral began to fill with people- members of the Society edging their way in from various directions, footsteps uncertain in the mid-dawn quiet. The first two brave enough to approach Childermass where he stood, situated before the doors as if to act as sentinel, were, _of course_ (had he offended Fate, lately?) Dr. Foxcastle and _Mr. Segundus._

The chill of the morning clearly affected Segundus, whose greatcoat looked far too thin. The end of his nose was red, and his lips beneath them silvery-white, and he held his hands close to his chest, rubbing his fingers to keep them warm. For an instant Childermass had a wild image of himself wrapping his own greatcoat around Segundus’ narrow shoulders, or taking those hands in his own to warm them between his palms, but the moment the fantasy appeared he kicked it thoroughly out on its backside and hoped that neither of the gentlemen would see anything amiss in his eyes or voice or cheeks.

He introduced himself and his purpose, looking mostly at Dr. Foxcastle (far from an enchanting vision, that) to avoid attending to the intense focus in Segundus’ eyes, a focus situated entirely on _him._ What had he done to warrant that? Childermass was accustomed to being the dark thing in the background, beneath the regard of decent gentlemen. When he was finished speaking, though, Segundus said this:

“It seems to me that I know your face. I have seen you before, I think?”

This surprised Childermass, and perhaps for an instant this surprise showed before he schooled himself into an appropriate lie. But this did not make much sense. Childermass knew what confounding spell Norrell had used on the magicians (having read the source material left out in Norrell’s study) and it was a nasty one, leaving the afflicted in a dizzy state for sometimes as long as a week. So how could he remember Childermass? The only way it made sense was if- was it possible- could he have broken the enchantment somehow-?

“No,” Segundus said in response to Childermass’ lie. “I have seen you- I can picture you...where? Oh, I shall have it in a moment!”

...so no, he had not broken the enchantment. But he _had_ remembered Childermass. Well, that was...nothing. It meant nothing. It meant that, perhaps, Segundus was more resilient to such magicks than others, even though absolutely everything about him suggested rather the opposite.

Or, it meant that in the library Segundus had paid _very close attention to Childermass’ face._

Childermass felt a return of that almost-uncomfortable warmth, a warmth that radiated very surely from where Segundus’ eyes landed on his body, but thankfully Dr. Foxcastle resumed talking to Childermass and he was able to distract himself with the business at hand. Yes, Dr. Foxcastle was an entirely ordinary old man, the perfect archetype of a respectable modern magician, and there was nothing about him that was alluring or delightful in the slightest.

Then, when Childermass had explained himself to all of the gentlemen present, he led them into the Cathedral to await the beginning of the magic. He knew, of course, what Norrell was going to do- the setting was so obvious for it, he wondered if some of the would-be magicians might even guess. 

The magic commenced with the tolling of an ancient and faraway-sounding bell, and then the first statue began to speak.

As more and more of the stone around them began to move, Childermass tried to take pleasure from the aspects of the scene he usually did- that was, the frightened yells and startled expressions of the various old men scattered about the room, the most of them recoiling in horror from what they proclaimed to be their life’s work. It was usually enjoyable enough to think spitefully of the small-mindedness of these men, to stew in the rich indulgence of a little resentment, releasing his acknowledged ill-wills in little misfortunes such as these so they would not rise up and cause real trouble later. But today, for a clear reason Childermass wanted to think was vague, this kind of pleasure did not appeal to him- it could not, not when there was something so much lovelier to ponder. Spite was a rough meal in a pub, perfect when one was hungry, but put it next to the dinner of a king and it could not even begin to compare.

In short, how could Childermass look at those foolish old men when he could look at _Segundus?_

Much like he had in the library, Segundus ran back and forth from one display of magic to another, and his apparent wonder and delight was so bright his presence drowned out every other. He was not horrified by the magic. Nor did the magic seem horrified by him- where some statues reached out with hard fingers to catch at the cloaks of the other gentlemen, or hissed their words more harshly, they tamed themselves whenever Segundus came spinning by. _Perhaps,_ Childermass thought, _it is because of his smile._ Because how could any creature, living or otherwise, keep up ill-temper or meanspiritedness when Segundus was smiling at it? Such a thing would surely defy the rules of nature.

Childermass sat back against one of the wooden (safe) pews, unable to take his eyes off of the shining little magician scribbling notes in his pocketbook and attempting to speak to the stone rendering of some medieval king and, as could be expected, some rather selfish thoughts began to enter his mind.

Wasn’t it a pleasant fantasy- wholly impossible, and so only a fantasy, and yet pleasant nonetheless- Childermass showing John Segundus some magic? It need only be a simple thing. He could tell him his fortune with the cards of Marseilles- ah, such a seedy and obscene thing to do, like some middle-class rake at a town party. But wouldn’t Segundus be delighted? Perhaps he could demonstrate by transforming himself into a shadow, or making a compass that fixed to a person instead of a pole, both minor spells he was well adept with. He could do nothing on the level of this display, but somehow he didn’t think Segundus would care. His eyes would sparkle and his cheeks would flush, and he would ask to be shown how, and Childermass would take his hands and lead him through the motions of the spell.

Oh, and there was an idea worth pondering entirely on its own! _Holding Segundus’ hands._ They were such slender, soft-looking hands, no doubt the only callouses upon them were those of a writer (which were, as far as callouses went, the gentlest a hand could have). Perhaps Childermass could capture them and kiss the pale knuckles, knuckles which would be without any splits or scars. He could turn them over then and kiss the palm, the base of the thumb, pull back the sleeve and kiss the crown of veins at the most fragile part of those white wrists…

Childermass, sitting in the Cathedral and not actually kissing anything, felt suddenly far too warm at these imaginings and made himself stop. Now, there was a place he most certainly shouldn’t go- under Segundus’ clothes-

-under the loosely tied cravat at his neck to a blue-and-white throat and raised collarbones, under his stockings to slender ankles and the slight swell of shapely calves, further up to silken thighs and _further up again-_

-a place he was most certainly barred from in real life, where he would be most horrifically unwelcome. He did not want to be lecherous, especially not over Mr. Segundus, who seemed far more innocent than any other past object of Childermass’ desires. Childermass would do well to restrain himself.

In what seemed like far too short a time the magic came to an end. The bells rang, and the statues slowly fell back out of life, returning to their watchful inanimate state. The magicians hovered around between the walls, unsure of themselves, and Childermass stood to attend to his last matter of business. The matter of pressure- of setting forth the motions that would force his master into the real world. There was only one man here he could approach to do it, another reason to put his foolish imaginings aside.

“I believe, sir,” said Childermass to Segundus, who turned to look at him as he approached, something like misted glass hovering behind his eyes. “that the society must now be broken up. I am sorry for it.”

This was, to Childermass’ own surprise, true. But he figured he was just being selfish again- he did not feel bad for the other York magicians, only Segundus, who would now be left alone. The way Segundus was looking at him suggested that somehow he knew this, or at least something like it- there was a touch of wariness in him that hadn’t been there before, along with the intense focus, and the way he held his shoulders suggested he was uncomfortable. Childermass did not want Segundus to be uncomfortable. But it seemed only natural- whether he knew it all or not, surely anyone would be uncomfortable around a man attempting to take away their livelihood while simultaneously imagining kissing the end of their red nose, the bones under their pink cheeks, their frowning white lips.

Childermass asked Segundus an inane question about newspapers, which transformed much of the discomfort into confusion (small victories), guiding him along until Segundus offered to write to _The Times_ about the events that had transpired there. It was an easier end to achieve than it might have been with another gentleman, because Segundus was very obliging, and Childermass told him so. There also could be no question of asking any of the other members of the Society for such a favour- not only had they signed away their rights to magic, but not one among them had the talent for the written word that Segundus did. Any reproduction of events that he made for the papers would surely be both very accurate and very easy to read- that is, it would not become dull and lifeless with bogged-down sentences and archaic word choice. It would be engaging, and if this play was going to succeed, the article would need to be engaging. Both the common and the fashionable would need to read it, and be excited by it, and begin to ask questions.

When Segundus had agreed to do it, Childermass bowed to him, and let him be. He had a sense that Segundus wanted to be left alone, which was fine- Childermass could make no claim to his attention.

But, as he trudged his way through the eerie post-dawn morning, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps Segundus was a little _too_ obliging. He was going out of his way to be helpful to a man who had tried to destroy him, and would probably do so again. He had spoken to Childermass earnestly, without any hint of the derision that affected so many gentlemen when speaking to servants of low breeding such as he. And this was to say nothing of Segundus’ expressive eyes and anxious way of holding himself, his inherent appearance of vulnerability. In short, Segundus seemed far too easy to take advantage of, and after this he would be all alone, the only magician in York and staying in that cheap little apartment. 

Well, it was none of Childermass’ business. If things went well, he would soon be moving to London with Norrell. Segundus could take care of himself.

But…

But, perhaps, every now and then he could check in, make sure that Segundus was well. It was already part of his duties to monitor upstart magicians, and Segundus hadn’t signed that contract. It wouldn’t be so outrageous, simply keeping an eye on things, ensuring no balance was upset.

Just in case.


	4. Fourth: The School

Time passed.

The world changed- after having been kept in obscurity for hundreds of years, magic became the talk on all tongues. Norrell lived in London and was kept busy by his friends and patrons, many ranking among the highest in the government. He met another practical magician and, instead of seeking to ruin him instantly, took him on as a _pupil._ How well he suited his name, this Jonathan ‘Strange’! Practical magic was applied everywhere in aid of the war and, for better or for worse, England was no longer as it once was.

Childermass was kept busy with a plethora of tasks- still often of the search-and-uncover variety. That was, after all, what he was best at. He kept track of Norrell’s enemies as well as his friends, hunted down vagabond magicians, searched for books that had been lost to time. He paid attention to the whispers on the streets, and gave his master only what he wanted to, even when he had so much more.

Through all of this, Childermass never lost the affection he had for John Segundus.

He always listened for word of the other magician, and watched him through channels that only he knew of. Whenever passing through York on other business Childermass would stop a few days to look at Segundus’ lodgings, or even at the man himself- coming and going unseen by those lovely dark eyes. No, he never reached out, never spoke to Segundus or- more absurdly- presumed that he could help him, even though the temptation to do any of these things became strong at times.

After Norrell moved to London, Childermass kept a close eye on York despite all his other work, and learned of how Segundus fell deeper into poverty (through no fault of his own- ah, it was so much harder to watch when Segundus never gambled nor took ill-advised loans! where he lost money was through charity- and how was that fair?). If not for his close friends the Honeyfoots to help and advise him, Childermass might have done something then, but thankfully he did not have to. He turned around one day and discovered that Segundus was taking on schoolboys and teaching them magic as an occupation, and that was so well-suited the thought of it pleased Childermass much more than it should have.

Time passed. Segundus took more pupils, young women and older boys among them, and though Segundus was naturally rather discreet Childermass took care to ensure that word of this would not reach Norrell’s ears. But Norrell was occupied now upon matters of greater importance than the systematic hunting-and-destruction of other magicians, and so Segundus was safe with his friends in Yorkshire, living a life distanced from the strange twists and turns of the world at the head of the Restoration of English Magic.

Any day Childermass expected to discover Segundus engaged to one of the Honeyfoot girls, but such news never came, and eventually they were all married off to good husbands without Segundus taking part in any of it. Childermass shouldn’t have taken any pleasure in this news, but, well.

In his search for Vinculus’ book Childermass ended up in York, and for an afternoon tracked down Segundus instead of working (small pleasures, every man had something they couldn’t resist). It was an unusually mild day in winter, and the sky was clear of clouds, a breeze blowing that deceptively suggested at an early spring. Childermass found Segundus in a small park, sitting at a bench surrounded by a cluster of young children- three boys and a girl, all around the same age (which was something like ten or eleven). Segundus had a lap-full of hothouse flowers and was demonstrating something with them to his eager apprentices, tracing the petals with his pale fingers. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and so the wind played with his hair and made its curls dance around his face, which he barely noticed, his face lit up with his work.

He was _beautiful._

The whole scene had an idyllic quality to it that had never been a part of Childermass’ life- a life that had been, through both choice and circumstance, one made largely of grit and shadow and exposed underbellies, of secret things and secret thoughts and secret feelings. So he knew he did not belong in it- there could be no world where Childermass walked up and joined them, where Segundus smiled at him the way he smiled at his pupils, and let Childermass tuck one of those flowers into his hair.

...but that didn’t mean Childermass couldn’t watch.

So watch he did, he watched until the lesson was over, and Segundus escorted his students home to houses of various incomes, and accepted his payments (which, Childermass noticed with some fond exasperation, were noticably lower for the poor families). He watched as Segundus returned home, looking very happy, and only when his front door closed did Childermass return to himself and his own reality. 

(He was such a selfish bastard.)

He left the next morning to continue on his search, but he kept the image of Segundus and the flowers close to his heart. Whenever ‘Life’ became too dull or morbid or frustrating he would pull it out and admire it- something lovely in a world that was far from lovely. A little indulgence, shameful maybe, but Childermass wasn’t really ashamed (exasperated, maybe) so all it became was another secret. 

Time passed.

The war went on, and then it came to an end. The Duke of Wellington returned to England victorious with what remained of his army, and with Mr. Strange. Norrell’s sly friend Drawlight turned out to be a liar and a thief (which Childermass had always known to be true in one way or another) but still he insisted on keeping vicious Lascelles, despite Childermass’ best advice. Well, that wasn’t his problem. Childermass gave what advice he would, it was up to Norrell to take it.

With Strange on his return, it seemed that things in Hanover-Square would soon become lively again- the question being, how would the government make use of its magicians with no war to fight?- and Childermass did not suppose anything more awry than it usually was, and then the news came. Bad news.

Segundus was attempting to open a school for magic.

When Childermass learned this he sat back in his chair and sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. A bitter resignation took him and he had to sit for several minutes before he could make himself resume his investigation.

In little time he uncovered the name of Segundus’ patroness, Mrs. Lennox, and discovered much which was complimentary to her character and skill with business. He uncovered the name of the house they intended to use- Starecross- and of how refitting was already underway.

Childermass, in spite of himself, went out of his way to disguise this fact from Norrell for as long as he could. Part of him (the part that was usually in command, the part that he had assumed was the whole for most of his life) knew it would do no good, that Norrell would find out eventually and it would be over, but another part (the part that only came to life when concerning matters of John Segundus) held onto a naive hope that if Norrell could be kept in the dark long enough maybe the school would be too far along by the time he discovered it, would be unstoppable! As expected, the realities of the first part were what came true, and Childermass rather resented the part that had hoped. He did not like that there was anything to render him so susceptible to foolish thoughts. He should have controlled himself better back when he had seen Segundus for the first time, he should not have spied on him teaching children in gardens. It did no one any good to have to wrestle with such unnecessary emotions as sympathy and remorse.

So Norrell found out, and became overcome with fear and paranoia, and Childermass was sent out to York to take away Segundus’ dreams for a second time. Though the weather on his ride out was pleasant and Brewer kept a comfortable pace, Childermass did not enjoy his journey.

When he arrived at Starecross- a slightly difficult to find place- the housekeepers told him that neither the owner of the property (Mrs. Lennox) nor the schoolmaster (John Segundus) were in, so he elected to wait, putting up Brewer in the stable to rest. Perhaps he should have stayed there, or at least waited by the gate, but his selfish nature took over again and Childermass found himself exploring the property.

Starecross was a strange house, with architecture that was neither fashionable nor conventional, and with its large winding gardens and courts that intermingled with feral woods it seemed an eerie kind of place. The brook that had to be crossed to enter the property may as well have been a moat, for it seemed to separate the house and its surroundings from the nearby village completely. Crossing the little packhorse bridge felt like crossing into another world. 

In short, it was the perfect place for a school of magic.

Childermass stopped in one of the gardens- it had not been tended to with care in a long time, and dry autumn leaves covered the stone pathway, catching in the slightly-wild rosebushes that lined it. He could quite clearly picture this place in another, better world: a world where the whispering of the wind was drowned out by talk and laughter, where the beautiful John Segundus led a group of bright-eyed children across this path, telling them perhaps of the magical properties of different kinds of trees. It would be an enchanting sight.

Childermass sighed and returned to the front gate to wait, not wanting to bother himself with any other such visions. He supposed if he were to enter the house he would find a room that was perfect for a library, another perfect for a classroom, another perfect for a dorm. Perhaps a little room with a pleasant view of the trees, a room that could be the office of the principal. 

It was easier to let things go if one didn’t have them.

Childermass had only to wait another quarter of an hour before Segundus returned. He came on foot, a lonely figure approaching up a lonely road, and when he saw Childermass he stopped for a fraction of a second, and then resumed his approach. When he came close enough Childermass saw that he looked unhappy- well, that was a simple way of saying it. Truly, he looked like he knew exactly why Childermass was there, like he had been expecting this news for some time, and in his eyes there was a dull thing unmistakable for despair. His cheeks were white. The sight made something deep in Childermass’ chest twist downwards, a feeling not unlike a frown.

So Childermass told Segundus why he was there, and Segundus made all the appropriate (and perfectly reasonable) protestations. But they were both playing a part. Segundus seemed to know as well as he did that Fate had cast her lot in with Norrell, and that any of the wonderful futures imagined of this place would not come to pass. When all had been said- _“Remember the York Society of Learned Magicians, Mr. Segundus, remember how he crushed them!”_ \- Segundus fell silent and looked away from him, down into the near-frozen ground, and Childermass took that as his dismissal. It would be cruel to linger. Childermass walked to the stable, and he found he had never felt quite so dirty has he did then.

When he came back out with Brewer he expected Segundus to have gone inside, but he was still standing there, his arms folded across his chest. With his posture and expression combined he was a perfect picture of helplessness and fury. A touch of colour had returned to his face in the form of two hot red spots high on each cheek. His eyes looked too bright, glittering bravely, not letting a single drop fall. Childermass was breathless for a moment, seeing that. The image was so striking that the temptation to do something- anything- what? Embrace him? Kiss his forehead? Take back his words, renounce Norrell, get down on one knee and swear fealty to Segundus instead, fight for him like he deserved-

-was almost overwhelming, but of course, all was impossible. The most he could manage was this:

“I am sorry it ends like this, sir. Yet surely all is not lost? This house is just as suited to another kind of school as it is for a magical one. You would not think it to look at me, but I am a very fine fellow with a wide acquaintance among great people. Choose some other sort of school and the next time I hear that a lord or lady has need of such an establishment for their little lordlings, I will send them your way.”

A weak apology followed by a lie, a crippled attempt at reassurance and a pathetic, mercantile promise. A promise he would certainly keep, would probably keep with something like desperation, but a pathetic one nonetheless. 

“I don’t want another kind of school,” Segundus said quietly. He was too dignified. It would be better (it would be _easier)_ if he were to hurl obscenities, to declare Childermass the rogue he was, threaten to have him barred from the property. But Segundus wouldn’t do that. Whatever God there may be had made something too good for these times, when He had made Segundus.

In response to his remark, Childermass’ face did something without his permission- it might have been a scowl or a smirk, he wasn’t sure. But there was nothing else that needed to be said, so he left, looking back only once, when he had crossed the packhorse bridge- Segundus was still standing there, a lonely little figure against the backdrop of the dark building.

Childermass took a room in an inn several miles down the road for the night, and when he lay down to retire he concluded that he had had a very bad day. Probably the worst day in a long time- and he had had some fairly awful days.

Before falling asleep, he decided that he should not spy upon Segundus so liberally anymore. He would keep watch only enough to uncover the new nature of Starecross so he could send people there. It did not seem right to follow the man about without his knowing, thinking thoughts that made his behaviour towards him all the more reprehensible. But the thought of ‘losing’ Segundus (foolish! he had never had him to begin with!) only served to deepen the black mood he had descended into, and he fell asleep in quite a fitful state indeed.


	5. Fifth: The Madhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small time discrepancy with canon in this chapter, but I had to do it! That ‘Fainting’ tag needed to be put to use.

Childermass and Brewer made their way through the countryside under the light of the stars. The air was cold, and tasted a little like lightning, though there were no clouds in the sky- it was magic that was building, then, not electricity. Childermass was in a remarkable position- newly retired from Norrell’s service, bleeding from the face, and carrying a box containing a lady’s dismembered finger. The day had taken quite a turn from what he had been expecting waking up that morning, but in truth he found he wasn’t actually very surprised.

Leaving the stable after the farewell of the other servants, Childermass had realized almost immediately where he was going. Indeed, there was really only one place he could go.

_Starecross._

Of course, he had the ‘message’ to deliver to Lady Pole (for he was reasonably certain that the finger was hers) but more than that, he had to see Segundus. Norrell had made the wrong choice (typical) and so now Childermass was a man with no master- save the King. This really meant nothing- certainly, it couldn’t change anything- but Childermass felt he had to see Segundus.

He had kept his promises. He hadn’t bothered the other magician, nor spied upon him, and he had recommended the madhouse-business to anyone whose situation suited. He had received a letter addressed to _him_ (not to Norrell) from Segundus, thanking him for directing Lady Pole to Starecross, and Childermass hadn’t replied. He had figured Segundus was probably better off without a black cloud hanging about his heels. The man had proven himself more than capable, and remarkably resilient. But…

...but Childermass had to see him now.

When he arrived he sent the servants into a fever- he supposed that was justified, though, it was probably rather frightening to come upon a bloody rogue banging on the door in the wee hours of the morning. They were sent away to summon Segundus, and Childermass waited just outside the door, watching his own breath fog the air before his face. The cut on his cheek stung. He realized that the journey had passed in what felt like only an hour, though it had to have been closer to ten- as if he had been dreaming on the way there. The sun was rising pink in the East, and it stained the stones of the madhouse, giving the place an ethereal appearance- more like a castle from another world than a building made by English hands and of English stones.

Then, Segundus arrived, and the sight of him sent a thrill of horror through Childermass- the dream-feeling became instantly unpleasant.

Segundus was barely there in comparison to his servant- he looked like he was no longer made of flesh and blood, but rather tissue paper, thin and insubstantial and ghostlike. What in the world had happened? His eyes were closed, was he _blind?_ Had he fallen ill, was he dying? Childermass had made a terrible mistake leaving him alone, he had looked away and the worst thing had happened, Segundus was reduced to a shadow of himself before Childermass’ eyes…

“Good Lord, Mr. Childermass!” said Segundus upon opening his own eyes (at least he wasn’t blind, then). “What happened to your face?”

Segundus’ voice shook, and it too sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away, and it was absurd that he reached out in concern for _Childermass,_ fingers hovering for an instant above his wounded cheek. Childermass couldn’t understand the look in his lovely eyes. Childermass had never done him any good (indeed regularly the opposite), so why should he care- why should he look like he so genuinely _cared?_

Childermass brushed aside the concern like it was cobwebs (that was an ill-thought comparison- all of Segundus looked like he was turning to cobwebs) and when asked, Segundus spoke not of some terrible illness but rather of _magic_ , unfeelable winds lifting his hair and the edges of his dressing-gown from where he stood beyond the threshold. 

(Damn, Segundus in his _dressing-gown!_ Even in dire straits like these, with not a spot of colour on his face, Segundus was shockingly pretty.)

They conversed, and Segundus agreed to take Childermass to Lady Pole in a slightly roundabout way- but the moment Childermass entered Starecross he realized what was wrong. There was a great magic here, a magic that wore the air thin- there was _another_ house, and Starecross had grown weak from holding it off, its presence pressing in upon England. It was perhaps worse than an illness, if Segundus had been sleeping in a place like this, where foreign winds could creep into his bedroom at night and caress his skin, where he was liable to be absorbed into another realm entirely. Segundus may be the kind of man to go typically unobserved by English standards, but Childermass had a terrible feeling that he would be quite irresistible to a _fairy._

Once inside, Childermass couldn’t even walk from the force of the magic, and Segundus said to him gently:

“It affects you badly, worse even than me. Close your eyes and take hold of my arm- Charles will lead us both.”

Childermass reached without looking, and what he found was Segundus’ hand instead of his arm- at the touch of skin (very soft, very cold skin) Childermass almost withdrew, but Segundus caught him, and entwined their fingers together. Childermass sucked in a lungful of air through his teeth, but if Segundus noticed his surprise he made no comment, and then they were off.

It felt entirely too natural, holding Segundus’ hand. Too comfortable. Segundus’ touch wasn’t shy at all, and Childermass couldn’t afford to pull away- he had an irrational fear that if he did, something _else_ would take Segundus’ hand, and he would be lost forever.

In a moment they arrived in a new room, and a lady was speaking, and as Childermass opened his eyes Segundus let go of his hand, but before he did so he gave Childermass’ palm a light squeeze- or maybe that was only his imagination.

Childermass spoke to the two Lady Poles. Well, if there ever could have been any doubt that she was at the centre of the magic occurring here, the sight of her other self in the red evening gown dispelled it. While they spoke Segundus fluttered back and forth, writing things down and touching Childermass’ shoulders, which was distracting, though not necessarily unwelcome. Childermass watched from the corners of his eyes, making sure Segundus wasn’t blown too far into the imposing other house, but in this room he seemed safe. When it came to the matter of the rose Segundus saw at her ladyship’s mouth, Childermass pulled from his jacket pocket the solution, in the little box the colour of heartache. 

When simply returning the finger to its owner did nothing, Segundus began to spin about the room in an addled kind of way, wringing his hands and lamenting the lack of any magicians- Childermass looked at him, amused despite the seriousness of the situation, and reminded him thusly:

“You and I are two magicians, Mr. Segundus. We must know something to the point. What about Pale’s Restoration and Rectification?”

Segundus looked quite startled when he said that. Childermass rather wondered if the magic in the house had whittled his mind away as it had his figure- all the more reason to break the enchantment.

“But I have never been a practical magician-”

“-and you never will be, if you do not try. Do the magic, Mr. Segundus.”

Segundus let out a sharp little sigh, but something in Childermass’ words seemed to have grounded him, and for a moment they looked at each other- what was that in his eyes, trust? Childermass did not deserve it- then Segundus drifted over to the lady’s vanity and picked through it to form the apparatus for the spell. 

A perfect calm came over him once he held the makeshift metal cross in his hands. He no longer looked anxious in the slightest. Childermass couldn’t stop staring at him- the sight was like that of a bird raising its wings for the first time, and discovering quite confidently that it could fly.

Segundus held the apparatus over the lady’s hand, said something in a voice too quiet for Childermass to hear, and then something very queer happened- it was as if the air snapped like a rubber band, something that had been pulled taught broke, and for an instant it seemed that the entire world (down to the very molecules in Childermass’ blood) shook with the aftershock. Then, there was only one house, and only one Lady Pole.

Lady Pole stood.

“I have been _enchanted!”_ she cried. These words were the first in a long torrent of truth, a waterfall that had been held back for far too long behind a dam of wicked design. She told them everything, and the flow of her anger and fire never seemed to go out.

After breaking the enchantment- for that was what Segundus had done- he sat down on one of the padded chairs in the lady’s room, his face drawn and as white as a sheet. He was also shaking something terrible, whatever stillness that had come upon him in the moment of the magic was long gone. Childermass supposed some of it was horror in reaction to what Lady Pole was saying- for that _was_ a horror story, a _fairytale,_ and every bit was true. But he was also undoubtedly rattled from the performance of his first spell, one that had been a rather dramatic undertaking, all things considered. Worse, the transparency in him had not vanished along with Faerie.

Before realizing entirely what he was going to do, Childermass reached out and took one of Segundus’ hands in his own, and gripped it firmly (an offer of something _real,_ to keep him in the chair). Segundus looked over at him, startled, and then he blushed, colour invading his cheeks and the ends of his ears in a sudden flood. Then they both looked away, back at Lady Pole who was still telling her story (a story that really did need to be attended to). But he did not let go of Childermass’ hand, rather he clung to it, holding on like Childermass was the only solid thing left in the world.

Childermass realized something then. This thing had been sneaking up on him for years and he had ignored it, beaten it down, always trying to remain the man he had been before- or at least maintain the illusion of it, to himself as much as to anyone. But there was no more avoiding it now. For better or for worse, another truth had come to him, and things could no longer be the way they had been.

Childermass’ realization was this: he was in _love._

…

Damn.

Lady Pole’s story began to wind down, and Segundus began to speak with her about publications and denouncements and Strange, and Childermass felt something else- a wave came over him, a feeling that said he had to _go,_ had to leave Starecross, had to get somewhere. But that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t leave Segundus now- he probably couldn’t leave Segundus ever again. There was nothing to make him leave, his mission was complete, all his other ties were severed- but _no,_ the feeling persisted, _he must go, he must go now,_ and Segundus let go of Childermass’ hand to illustrate some point to Lady Pole, and the moment he did so the pressure building inside his head tipped the scales in its favour, and he found himself standing, excusing his presence.

“Where are you going?” Segundus asked, looking at him with wide, worried eyes. How could he leave those eyes? But he _had_ to…

“I am going to find Strange and Norrell,” Childermass replied, because that was the only thing that made sense, even if he wasn’t really thinking it. “I am going to offer them my assistance to free Mrs. Strange and Stephen Black.”

Then he was gone, out the door and on Brewer’s back, his memory caught in the distraught expression on Segundus’ face even as his body fled the house.

_(Later)_

Childermass was riding in the near-midday chill, and with him was Vinculus, the King’s book, who was comfortably sated on apples and claret. The morning behind them had a sense of unreality that Childermass did not like- he supposed it was in part due to sleep deprivation, for he had ridden most of the night to get to Starecross. And couldn’t it also be due to blood loss? He had been cut, he knew, he had been bleeding rather fiercely...but at the moment he couldn’t quite remember if this was really true, and if it was, where exactly he had been wounded.

Now, Childermass had the very unsettling feeling that he had been _enchanted,_ though by who and for what purpose he was not sure. Something had certainly addled him, made him leave Starecross and come up to find the hanging vagabond- hanging? Had he been hanging? He couldn’t have, Vinculus was in the peak of health…

They were on their way back to Starecross, of course, as quickly as Brewer could go with two riders. Childermass supposed he could take the Raven King’s book to Norrell and Strange, but it suited him much better to take him to another magician first. If the two Greatest Magicians of the Age figured out whatever they needed to figure out in Strange’s Eternal Darkness and came by to read the pages, Childermass wouldn’t protest. Indeed, he would send them word. He would send every magician word. He would have every one of such people in England make use of this marvel, this long-lost treasure, and he would not let Norrell hoard magic like a miser, not anymore.

But before anything like that, he would return to Segundus. There seemed no greater imperative in the world- and this feeling, Childermass knew, came entirely from within himself.

When they arrived it was noon, and the house seemed to be in a general confusion- but it looked perfectly like an English house now, the magic that had affected it was gone. Childermass put Brewer up in the stables and instructed a servant to tend to him- he had ridden more than enough that day, he deserved a rest- and considered briefly handing Vinculus over to the man as well; but Vinculus, tired from his alcoholic breakfast and cold ride, seemed content to settle down in the hay of an empty stall himself and fall almost immediately asleep. Well, that was fine, Childermass supposed.

He then went inside, where there was even greater bustle, someone was calling out about strangers appearing at the bridge, and Lady Pole came tumbling down the stairs. She was dressed now, her hair pinned loosely, and all her fierce beauty was on fire.

Segundus followed her, his own gentle beauty seeming quite terrified, but when he saw Childermass he stopped for an instant, relief touching every part of his face and turning his cheeks pink. The sight was a bolt of lightning that left Childermass breathless.

“Oh, Mr. Childermass, I am so glad you have returned,” Segundus said rapidly (a little out of breath himself) and he squeezed Childermass’ arm as he went by. “Come, something quite terrible is about to happen! We must help Lady Pole!”

Still struck dumb, Childermass followed Segundus and Lady Pole in their mad dash out of Starecross. He wasn’t sure what any of them expected to find beyond it, but what he certainly hadn’t expected was this: a strange pair upon the packhorse bridge comprised of Sir Walter’s negro servant and an eerily beautiful gentleman with a head of brilliant silver hair. 

What happened next only added to the uncanniness of the scene. The gentleman said something which could not be heard over Lady Pole’s own screamed obscenities- but he had a wicked kind of smile, and with no uncertainty Childermass guessed that this was the creator of the enchantment she had spoken of because he was obviously a _fairy._

(Funny. And what would his old master say to this impossibility? Well, he probably already knew.)

Then, as Childermass watched, the bridge the fairy was standing on collapsed, and he was flung into the water below- water which now seemed to be a good deal deeper and more self-aware than it had been previously. The brook began to drag the fairy away, and the servant followed with an expression on his face that Childermass could not understand- one that was something made equally of apathy and rapture.

Lady Pole tried to follow them too, calling the man’s name, but Segundus wavered, and in an instant all of Childermass’ attention was on him, for he suddenly looked just as pale as the spotlessly white attendant’s coat he was wearing.

Indeed, he looked a hundred times more insubstantial than he had when Childermass had first seen him on this very day. Whatever there was left of John Segundus in England, it was but a fraction of him, the rest was like an illusion- a pale reflection seen from some other world. The wind had picked up and it lifted his hair, and for a horrified instant Childermass was certain it would also lift his _skin,_ that layers of him would fall away and be blown into Faerie, revealed to be nothing but apple blossoms and snowflakes spun into the shape of a man.

This impression was so strong and so unpleasant that Childermass found himself running, closing the distance between them in two great bounds, thinking perhaps that if he was quick enough he might be able to hold the pieces of Segundus together. As he did this, Segundus spoke:

“There is great magic here,” he said, in a voice that sounded like a dream. “It is inside my head…”

Then, just as Childermass reached him he fell. His eyes closed and his head tipped up towards the heavens, and he fainted away into Childermass’ arms.

Childermass caught him-

_-I caught him-_

-and though he was rather light he seemed to weigh as much as one could reasonably expect for a man of his stature, and this was such a relief Childermass found himself sinking to his knees on the cold ground. Segundus wasn’t really falling apart. He was still _here._

He looked bloodless, though, and all the purples and blues of veins under his skin seemed especially prominent. Childermass understood, for he could feel it too- there was great magic being done, magic that made the air swim, magic that was changing something so fundamental it might be changing the entire world. Childermass didn’t dare look up, focusing all his attention on Segundus’ pale face, in case doing so would have him succumb to the same weakness.

This was perhaps a rather ungentlemanly thought, but Segundus looked very fetching in a swoon. Everything that was delicate about him was brought forth tenfold in this ultimate act of delicacy, and the way he had naturally fallen- one hand loose on his chest, the other strewn out across the grass, back bending around Childermass’ arm- was so absurdly, unintentionally _fashionable_ that Childermass couldn’t help but be charmed by him all over again.

God, he was smitten, wasn’t he? What a ridiculous thing it was, love.

After a few moments the magic stopped and Segundus stirred, his dark eyelashes fluttering like he was the helpless princess in some German household tale, lips moving as though to speak.

Childermass did not say anything to him, for his own throat had gone dry. He did not think he could take the liberty of brushing some of those dark curls from Segundus’ forehead.

Then Segundus’ eyes opened, and there was a clean clarity in them as he looked up at Childermass, some kind of understanding pooling behind his pupils. He smiled sweetly, and Childermass reminded himself to breathe.

“Oh,” Segundus said softly, lifting his hand to touch Childermass’ cheek. “It’s you…”

He sounded so _pleased_ it didn’t seem possible that he was in his right mind- and sure enough he _wasn’t,_ as Childermass helped him sit up it was uncovered that Segundus did not remember where he was nor who he was nor _what he was,_ murmuring something about opening his petals to take in the dawn light. Though this was concerning it thankfully did not last long, and as Childermass helped him back to the house he slowly put himself back together. By the time they were there and Childermass was calling for a strong pot of tea to be made for the master he seemed back to himself, albeit shaken. But he was clearly safe, in no danger of dissolving like mist or transforming into a flower, which left Childermass free to do the necessary thing, to investigate the whereabouts of Lady Pole- and more importantly, the fate of the black butler and his fairy-enchanter.

As he began to stand again Segundus took his arm, an intent look on his face that was unmistakable for a question.

“I will be back,” Childermass told him. The promise had a binding quality to it, touching the air like a spell. This was because it was entirely true- Childermass had no other choice, and certainly didn’t _want_ any other choice. “I will be back for you.”

Segundus released him, and smiled.


	6. First: Home

In the weeks following the breaking of Lady Pole’s enchantment England began to settle. The convulsions caused by the return of magic ceased and left a new landscape in their wake- a landscape where familiar terrain was warped, some well-known things buried and others that had long been forgotten rising to the surface.

Lady Pole herself could be said to ‘vanish’, she left England to find her friend the disenchanted Arabella Strange in Venice. However, the whereabouts of the third victim of the fairy- Stephen Black- had not been uncovered. Indeed, it seemed like the kind of thing that may never be uncovered.

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell also vanished along with all their property (and the Eternal Darkness), and so the only book of magic left in England was the one written by the Raven King, the one that had so surreptitiously fallen into Childermass’ possession. As he had desired, he shared it, first with the York Society and then with groups of magicians from all across the country who came to study it. He could have gone to them, he supposed, he was used to a traveling life from years at sea as well as his work with Norrell, but he didn’t. The very day after it was discovered that Strange and Norrell had disappeared Childermass had been invited to make his bed at Starecross by its master, and he hadn’t been able to refuse. The magicians who wanted to study Vinculus (who were many, and who were always discomfited by the book’s habits and demeanour) had to come there, or to the Starre Inn, a place which had been revitalized as a center of magic and now teemed with guests in deep discussions on the subject at every hour of the day.

Starecross was undergoing changes as well. It was ill-suited for a madhouse- and indeed, it had never truly been one, for its only ‘patient’ had been a victim of magic. And no longer were there restrictions upon who could practice magic, and how.

“I think I should like to return to the previous plan,” Segundus had said shyly to Childermass one day. “That is, I think Starecross should be a school for magic.”

“I can think of nothing better,” Childermass had told him, and Segundus had blushed and smiled so brightly Childermass had wondered how his heart hadn’t simply stopped right then.

Mrs. Lennox’s previous vigour for business returned, and the house was put into a constant state of renovation, Segundus kept busy in helping make the preparations and putting word out for potential students. The plan was to have the first term in the fall of that year, leaving the rest of winter, spring, and summer to get the school into a functioning condition. Childermass, when he wasn’t working with Vinculus, helped also (especially with the advertising), and in little time all of England seemed to be taking interest in the Starecross School of Magic.

It was amazing how the end of one thing could bring about the beginning of another.

Childermass knew that a new era had begun- he felt it in the air, he saw it in the stones, tasted it in the water. Magic had truly been restored to England the night Strange and Norrell had disappeared, not when either had begun their efforts in London, in the war. Vinculus had called them the Raven King’s spell, and the more Childermass thought of that the more he supposed it was true.

Indeed, he found himself thinking of magic a good deal these days, and discussing magic a good deal, too. He was the last person in England who had had close contact with Norrell, was the Reader of the King’s Book, and was on his own a perfectly tolerable practical magician, so despite his low breeding and background gentlemen of all sorts had questions for him, and a fair number of them asked respectfully. But there was one magician above all with whom Childermass enjoyed discussing magic, and answering questions.

In those weeks Segundus and he quickly became something like friends. This was more of a relief than Childermass expected- he had feared that Segundus wouldn’t want him around, given their history, but that fear seemed entirely unfounded, the matter of past injustices barely ever mentioned. Worse, Segundus was wonderful company. Childermass knew it was one thing to pine and peer through windows, and another to actually spend time with someone, and it was both a delight and a burden to discover that he very much liked spending time with Segundus. He liked the things Segundus had to say, and the way he said them, and all his habits and erratic gestures. He was completely caught, fallen in a way he hadn’t in an eternity, and thought he never would again. He had been right- there was no getting away from it, even if he wanted to (which he didn’t).

Childermass found he was surprisingly content with how things had turned out. His days were pleasant, not simply things that passed, and he looked forward to what might come when he woke in the morning. How had he let himself get like this? He was a fool- but this kind of foolishness didn’t seem to be punished in the new post-Restoration England.

But, strangely idyllic though his life was becoming, Childermass had his challenges. Vinculus was partly a source of amusement and partly a headache (usually, books didn’t make snide comments about those reading them) and there was a lot of business to sort through, the kind of business that no one really knew how to deal with, which meant a lot of the figuring-out was left to him.

...and it was increasingly difficult to restrain himself around Segundus.

He was just too lovely. He would laugh at something Childermass had said, and his cheeks would turn pink, and he would look at Childermass like there was nothing he would rather see- which was absurd, and surely infinitely untrue. He regularly asked to be shown spells and, no matter how small their effect, would be absolutely delighted by them and even more delighted when Childermass taught him how (it seemed, actually, that Segundus preferred small spells- larger undertakings left him dizzy and chilled and vaguely insubstantial, which meant that Childermass preferred his using small spells, too). Sometimes, after a successful bout of magic Segundus would take one of Childermass’ hands and squeeze it in passion, his eyes glittering, and it took all of Childermass’ strength not to kiss him then and there.

But Segundus was a gentleman, and he would surely be horrified to learn of indecent thoughts (and actions- Segundus didn’t know that Childermass used to follow and watch him, and it was going to stay that way) coming from a colleague. Childermass would content himself with being Segundus’ friend- eventually a dear friend, he would hope- and he would bear the ache in his arms at night when he thought about holding the other man, resist the urge to kiss his white lips and glowing cheeks and quivering eyelids (and other even less savoury imaginings- in bed, pale skin moving against his own, the room filled with tiny gasps and sighs). Even if it was difficult, he could manage that much, couldn’t he?

(Well, as it turned out, he couldn’t.)

It was an unusually cold evening in late spring- but then, it had generally been an unusually cold spring. Segundus and Childermass were riding back to Starecross after spending the better part of the week-end at Starre Inn, discussing possible translation methods for the Book with a crowd of magicians. Childermass had often found himself thinking sharply about some of them, for Segundus was far cleverer than they, but they were _louder,_ and so it sometimes took a while before solutions could be come to (not that Segundus himself had seemed bothered- he was too good-natured). By Monday Segundus needed to return to Starecross to attend to business for the school, but Vinculus was staying behind at the inn to appease the other magicians and Childermass should have stayed with him- but Segundus was not a confident rider, and though he hadn’t asked for anything one worried look out the window had thoroughly ensured that Childermass would accompany him. It was agreed upon that Childermass would ride with Segundus to Starecross Sunday afternoon and spend the night there, and then return to work with Vinculus Monday morning.

The journey started out well- Segundus was very cheerful, and Childermass appreciated the opportunity to speak with him alone, with only the melancholy spring fields and forests to listen in (and those could not interrupt, or demand to be attended to). But as the hours passed the wind picked up and the air turned cold, and on the last leg of their journey it actually began to snow the kind of spring snow that wouldn’t last until morning, but was rather discouraging to ride through anyway. Childermass wouldn’t have minded this if he had been alone, but Segundus was extraordinarily susceptible to chills and fevers, and he had forgotten to pack his gloves; in little time his knuckles and the ends of his fingers were red, which was to say nothing of his ears and nose, which he couldn’t have protected anyway. He didn’t complain- because of course he wouldn’t- but he soon began to look uncomfortable.

“Let’s stop a moment,” Childermass said before long. “I can give you my gloves-”

“Nonsense,” Segundus replied, looking almost indignant at the prospect. “I won’t have you punished for my foolishness. And besides, we’re nearly there.”

Childermass considered arguing that he wouldn’t suffer from it- and that the thought of Segundus wearing his clothes in any capacity was far from a punishment- but Segundus had a stubbornness in him that sometimes rose to the surface, and Childermass could see it clearly there now. He huffed to himself and rode on, trying to encourage a slightly faster pace while the snow fell thick and wet, clouding the air in a muffling white but turning to rain the moment it touched the ground.

By the time they made it back to Starecross both riders were soaked and Segundus was shivering. They rode right into the otherwise empty stable and dismounted- Childermass knew the staff who tended to the horses would have gone inside in this weather, and wouldn’t necessarily have seen them coming through the snow, but this desolation annoyed him a little anyway (there had better be a good fire going inside). Segundus was very stiff, and as he stepped out of his stall he clasped his wind-burned hands together, and the sight was so pitiful Childermass couldn’t help himself.

In a gesture that bordered on instinct Childermass removed his gloves and took Segundus’ hands into his own to warm them. His skin was so cold it was startling, and Childermass supposed the heat of his own must be so also as Segundus made a tiny noise when he did it- though he didn’t pull away.

“Oh,” Segundus said very quietly. “Thank you.”

Childermass then realized, in bits and pieces, that they were standing very close together- the clouds of their breath overlapped in the chilled air. The only sound was that of the horses shifting in their stalls, _no one else was there,_ and Segundus was blushing his prettiest shade of pink- a colour aside from cold had risen from beneath that translucent pale skin, decorating his cheeks. His eyes were glittering as brightly as they ever did, and in them Childermass saw no reproach or discomfort- only something unspoken. The silence became too long between them, the moment was poised for action, and Segundus trembled with something other than the chill, his brilliant eyes flickering back and forth across Childermass’ face, landing more often than not on his lips…

Childermass kissed him.

...

Segundus had unbearably soft lips. He was unbearably soft in general. In kissing him Childermass felt like he was taking the body of a baby bird in his hand- something wonderful but fragile that needed to be handled carefully. One hand lifted from between them and he ran his own calloused thumb over the smooth skin on Segundus’ cheekbone, and he felt the other man take a shuddering breath, which prompted him to pull back. It had only been a gentle kiss, yet uncertain of itself, the barest touch of lips to lips.

In the strange half-twilight coming through the stable windows Segundus’ eyes were transformed somehow into stars. Had magic been done to make it so, without either of them noticing? The flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading across his nose and ears and darkening to a colour like wild roses. His lips were parted, his breath audible as tiny gasps, and one hand unfolded itself from the fist at his chest and rose as if to touch Childermass’ face- but didn’t make it all the way, losing courage just before it brushed his cheek.

He was too pretty. No man deserved to have this, Childermass least of all. He supposed he had made a mistake- the only sensible thing that could happen next was for him to be sent away immediately, rejected for his trespass, persecuted for his desire. But in the moment he did not yet feel regret for it. 

“H-how...how did you know?” Segundus asked in a very tiny voice. His raised hand had fallen to Childermass’ wet shoulder, a minute pressure, and those starry eyes darted back and forth across his face, trying to find something that Childermass did not know was even there. They stood even closer together than before, chests brushing, nearly an embrace.

“You’re lovely,” he said instead of answering (in truth, he barely heard what Segundus said). He sighed, exasperated with himself- but since things had turned out this way, he was determined to speak his mind before it was over. “Aye, you’re a right lovely thing.”

“Oh,” Segundus murmured. He bit his lower lip for a fraction of a second- _unbelievable-_ and then (in one of those small acts of courage that suited him so well) he closed the distance between their mouths once more.

Childermass was for an instant completely stunned by the renewed sensation of those cold, earnest lips against his, and then he was emboldened by it, hands finding the nape of Segundus’ neck and the dip of his lower back, bringing them together completely- allowing this kiss to be a little more, a little deeper. Segundus accepted it without any reservation- indeed, with _vigour-_ wrapping his arms around Childermass’ neck and sighing, melting happily into the embrace. 

Only then did the meaning of what Segundus had said trickle slowly into Childermass’ mind.

“You don’t mind this, then?” he asked when Segundus clearly needed to breathe, muttering the words close to the shell of his ear. Segundus was still shaking, even more so than before, but contrary to Childermass’ first assumptions this didn’t seem to be from fear.

“It is a wrong question, sir,” Segundus gasped, and in spite of it all Childermass scoffed, and then chuckled, and then laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Segundus asked dizzily, clutching the lapel of Childermass’ jacket. “I don’t know what’s so-”

Childermass kissed him again to quiet them both, quick and hard, and so whatever Segundus had been going to say turned into a little moan. Then Childermass took those chilled hands in his own again and began fulfilling the very old daydream of kissing them all over, starting with his chapped knuckles, like Segundus was his lord (well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely untrue). Segundus watched him, mouth open but quite speechless, the display of passion leaving him so weak Childermass had some concern that he might fall.

“Oh, my,” Segundus said when he could say anything at all (when Childermass had moved onto his wrists). “Mr. Childermass, I did not know- that is to say, despite my own feelings, I did not suspect-”

“I’ve wanted this for a long, long time,” Childermass told him. Segundus shivered, his eyes were feverish, and in the dark, clouded light he looked almost otherworldly. He replied:

“Oh. Well. We could have done this a lot sooner, then.”

Childermass laughed again- somehow he was in a very good mood- and he stood, looking out the window towards the house. They were still alone, but the world came back, present in the chill of the air and the lights being lit in the windows of the school. Brewer, still in need of an undressing and brush, gave Childermass a decidedly exasperated look over the stall door as if to say _good for you, and?_

“I assumed I would be unwelcome,” Childermass said to Segundus, who let out a sharp little sigh.

“When you- the day Lady Pole’s enchantment was broken- I know you caught me,” Segundus said, winding his fingers in Childermass’ grasp. “I wasn’t myself- I think I became some kind of plant. But I saw you, and I knew you were the sun. So-”

He looked away, and Childermass was lovestruck once again, for that was probably the best thing he could have said. 

“...so you could never be unwelcome. In fact, sir, rather the opposite.”

Childermass pressed his lips to Segundus’ forehead, one last, lingering mark, and then he released Segundus entirely, putting one step between them.

“That is the best of news to me, sir. But for now, we would best go inside and warm up. Perhaps tonight we can continue this discussion...somewhere private?”

He spoke too formally, compensating for the sheer _newness_ of it all, but Segundus smiled at him and agreed. He seemed flustered as he gave Childermass’ hand a squeeze- perhaps there were too many things implied by ‘tonight’ and ‘private’- and then he released him and darted out of the stable, energy in his step despite the length of the ride behind them.

Childermass followed at a more languid pace, watching Segundus’ back. He was too cute. It was unbelievable, but Childermass knew he wasn’t dreaming. He could feel the still-falling snow on his face.

Just before they reached the front door Segundus looked back at him, sending him another shy, sparkling smile. 

Beautiful. Childermass was lucky, wasn’t he?

_(Six Months Later)_

Starecross was all in a flurry, for the students were set to arrive within the week, and though all preparations had been declared complete new inconveniences and minor setbacks kept being discovered as the extensive staff (some of whom came from the vanished Hurtview, in need of work and entirely comfortable with having a magician for a master) settled into their duties and apartments. The late summer weather was consistently warm and bright, and in general the place was quite lively, everyone in high spirits. The air was full of anticipation. 

Childermass slipped into Segundus’ study (which was charmed to always be unlocked for him) to put some letters he had received back in York on the desk. The window was partly open, letting in a warm breeze, and outside people could be heard shouting at the sound of a carriage approaching the bridge.

Behind him, the door to the study creaked open again.

“Oh!” said Segundus, clearly surprised to see him there. “You are back. Excellent. I have business with you.”

Childermass turned to look at him. Segundus was dressed in dark blue and crisp white, the fabrics of his clothes now much finer than anything he would have chosen for himself before all of this- Mrs. Lennox had insisted on improving his wardrobe, as he was the headmaster of England’s most prestigious (albeit only) school of magic. The blue looked very good on him, accentuating the paleness of his skin, the darkness of his hair. 

“‘Business’?” Childermass replied, raising one eyebrow. “Well, if that’s what you want to start calling it…”

Segundus laughed, and let Childermass wrap an arm about his waist, kissing him comfortably in welcome. Segundus smelled of paper and ink and wildflowers.

“Yes, business,” he said primly, finishing the kiss with a peck to the side of Childermass’ mouth, adjusting Childermass’ worn jacket and cravat with light fingers (a likely futile attempt to make him more presentable). _“Teaching_ business. You do want to, don’t you? I saw a look in your eye when Mr. Hadley-Bright brought it up last week.”

Segundus smiled at him rather slyly, and Childermass scoffed.

“You haven’t found a way to read men’s minds, have you?” he asked lowly, rubbing a thumb against the fabric at Segundus’ hip.

“Only yours,” Segundus replied, turning aside to peer out the window. “Yes, that’s Mrs. Lennox now. Come down with me and we shall work out all the details.”

As always, he gave Childermass’ hand a little squeeze before releasing him. That smile was infectious, and Childermass found himself having to sternly scold it away from his own face as they stepped back out into the hallway. It wouldn’t do to go about looking like a moony-eyed puppy after Segundus. That was a private matter.

Watching Segundus hurry down the stairs, Childermass realized he wasn’t entirely sure how things had ended up this way- but he certainly was happy. Yes, that was a good way of putting it- he was very happy.

He was _home._


End file.
